


down on your knees

by cxrranam



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Manhandling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Why do I do this, rovinsky, this is filth, time to bathe in holy water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxrranam/pseuds/cxrranam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan Lynch will kneel for two people: The Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and Joseph Kavinsky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	down on your knees

**Author's Note:**

> credit to joseph-kavinsky.tumblr.com for the opening line which I used as the prompt to spark this entire filth.

**Ronan Lynch will kneel for two people: The Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and Joseph Kavinsky.** The only moments he felt like he was truly breathing was when his knees were pressed against solid ground, and Joseph Kavinsky had his nails scratching at his scalp. That, and when his foot was pressed against the acceleration, and Kavinsky’s white Mitsubishi was growling at him from the side.  
 

The crunch of tires on asphalt was almost as satisfying as having Kavinsky grunt his name with a voice as wrecked as Ronan felt.

 

Which was how he found himself in his current predicament, face pressed against Kavinsky’s clothed crotch; his open mouth left wet patches on his designer underwear. Kavinsky’s hand was wrapped around the nape of his neck. It held him there, immobilised but willing.

 

He didn’t know what to do with his hands for a panicked moment - because fuck, he’d never been in this situation before - but it was surprisingly easy to hook his fingers into the waistband of Kavinsky’s unbuttoned jeans. The faint sigh that slipped in a breath past Kavinsky’s lips was all Ronan had hoped for.

 

His tongue pressed against the fabric, hot and wet, and Kavinsky’s hips bucked forward towards him. His hand tightened on his neck, holding him there.

 

“Do that again.”

 

Kavinsky didn’t negotiate. For once in his life, Ronan did what he was told, tongue dragging over Kavinsky’s crotch again. He could feel him growing hard beneath his mouth, even through the material, and something within him grinned wildly in triumph.

 

He could beat Kavinsky in everything. He could damn well turn him on too.

 

Kavinsky was thrusting against his face now, and Ronan could hear his breath catching whenever Ronan dragged his lips against the bulge of his underwear. Ronan could hardly feel the damp earth beneath his knees, staining his jeans probably. Like he cared. Not when Joseph Kavinsky was squeezing the back of his neck and using him like some goddamn toy. Like a goddamn whore.

 

Abruptly, Kavinsky pulled him off and Ronan nearly fell onto his ass. His face screwed up in a scowl, a crude phrase halfway out of his mouth before he realised why. Kavinsky was shucking his jeans down to his ankles, and his prized underwear followed them.

 

And Ronan’s mouth watered, his lips parting at the sight of Joseph Kavinsky’s cock.

 

He wanted it in his mouth. He wanted Joseph Kavinsky to tell him how good he was. He wanted to let go of every pretence for a few moments.

 

The smirk Kavinsky offered up was one that Ronan would usually want to slap off his stupid face, but in that moment, it made his blood burn through his veins. His chest heaved. He could feel the heat rising in his face.

 

Kavinsky flashed his teeth. “How much do you want this down your throat, Lynch?”

His voice was low, deep. Almost a purr. If the Mitsubishi was wild dog growling at amber lights, Kavinsky was a feline predator, beholding his next prey. His pupils were huge, dilated by drugs or by lust, and they were fixed undeniably on Ronan Lynch.

 

“Cut the crap, Kavinsky,” Ronan spat. It sounded a lot less vicious than he wanted. In fact, it was a whimper, a plea falling upon Kavinsky’s deaf ears.

 

Kavinsky laughed. One hand was idly stroking himself, slowly, teasingly. He didn’t seem to care when Ronan tipped his chin back to expose the bare column of his throat, an offering. _An exchange,_ he thought.

 

“What?” Kavinsky asked, when Ronan’s brow furrowed with irritation. “I want an answer, Lynch. Answer my question.” That purr. The command. The only man he would obey. “Do you want my cock down your throat?”

 

_Yes._

 

He wouldn’t say it. He refused. Even as all the blood in his head decided to abdicate his brain and sink further south than he wanted. One look from Kavinsky; one fucking purr and he was at his feet with a growing problem in his jeans.

 

“Say it, Lynch.” Kavinsky’s lips parted with soft breath as he pleasured himself. “Don’t be a pussy. Say it and I’m all yours.”

 

Ronan’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his hands clenching in the dirt at his sides.

 

Kavinsky laughed again. It was cruel, every bit of sound like a dagger in Ronan’s resolve.

 

“It’s okay,” Kavinsky sneered. “Some boys just don’t have it in them.”

 

Oh. _Oh._ Kavinsky wanted to play, did he? Ronan loved games. He loved a challenge like that. Especially with a reward worth fighting for. If Kavinsky wanted to play, they could fucking play.

 

Ronan shuffled forward. He watched Kavinsky’s hand moving lazily over himself, and then he met the boy’s piercing gaze. And he bared his neck again, lips parted willingly. As if he’d done it all his life, he linked his fingers together behind his back, and spread his knees apart.

 

An offering.

 

And then he spoke. Low. Sulty. Playful.

 

“Joseph. I want your cock down my throat. I want you to dig your fucking nails into my scalp. I want you to use me.” His lips tilted into a smirk, mirroring Kavinsky’s expression. “I could be so good for you…”

 

Kavinsky could be so predicable. He snapped like a rubber band. His hand flew through the air and connected with Ronan’s face. The slap was so satisfying, the sting that followed even more so. If Ronan thought he was hard before, now was unbearably so.

 

The hand that had slapped him wrapped around his throat, thumb and forefinger pressing at his jaw. Ronan opened his mouth wider, his chest heaving with every effort to breathe and stop his head from spinning. Teenage hormones. He could feel them zipping through his blood.

 

And then he felt Kavinsky slide his hard cock into his mouth, and the hand around his throat moved to the back of his head. Another joined it.

 

Kavinsky thrust past his willing lips. Hard. Fast.

 

Ronan gagged suddenly, his body convulsing, but Kavinsky didn’t stop. _Fuck._ Ronan didn’t want him to. Whether he was masochistic or just plain idiotic, he wasn’t sure, but Kavinsky’s dick slid down his throat again and again, and Ronan had to screw his eyes tight shut to stop the tears from falling.

 

This was bliss. This was fucking bliss. To be able to let go, and be _used_ like this. His body trembled, his saliva and Kavinsky’s precum mingled as it fell unceremoniously down his chin.

 

Kavinsky wasn’t going to last much longer like this - face fucking Ronan’s brains out. He could feel the boy trembling above him, and sweet sweet grunts were falling from his lips like tiny little prayers.

 

His groans were rising in pitch, in volume too, until he was whining, and then howling. Ronan’s hand slipped under Kavinsky’s shirt and lay flat against his abdomen for support as he pulled himself back and out of Kavinsky’s iron grip on his head.

 

He wrapped his other hand around Kavinsky’s dick, and twisted it once, twice, three times. Kavinsky was coming on his face, on his throat. It dripped onto his black tank top, and Ronan only briefly wondered how he was going to explain that stain to Gansey when he returned to Monmouth before he was overcome by pride.

 

Joseph Kavinsky had come with _his_ hand around him, and a shout of _Ronan_ on his lips. Even with the tight press in his jeans, Ronan felt satisfied.

  
Now. About those stains.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to @thefeelsonthebus for being as sinful as i am, love you rev


End file.
